


Silenced

by Mississippi_moon



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Merthur - Freeform, OC, angst as usual, somewhat of a slow burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:08:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 12
Words: 15,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25291417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mississippi_moon/pseuds/Mississippi_moon
Summary: Arthur discovers a certain secret about his manservant and his world suddenly flips upside down. The prince must send his best friend away, just for a little while so he can figure out what to do next. Merlin should be safe on his own, right? After all, he is a powerful warlock… (Takes place after The Coming of Arthur, however, Uther was still in his right mind after Morgana’s betrayal.)
Comments: 37
Kudos: 115





	1. Arthur Knows

**Author's Note:**

> So, yay, new story. I’ve had this sitting around for a while but for some reason I’ve lacked the time/motivation to put it up. Anyways, this story gets dark very fast, so be warned! I would love to hear your feedback—your encouragement goes a long way! Much love and stay safe you guys.

The funeral was somehow an entire week ago, though it felt like it had been merely hours. Arthur scrubbed angrily at his eyes for what felt like the hundredth time that day. It was real. His father was truly gone. And the chasm of loss and betrayal that had split open in his chest long ago had opened just a bit wider, leaving Arthur feeling even more hollowed out than before. 

But Arthur knew how to fix it. Or at least, how to start feeling like a person again. 

It was time to find Merlin and bring him home. 

Arthur shivered when he thought back to that night in the forest almost a month ago. It had been a stupid, run-of-the-mill bandit attack of all things. Arthur and his companions were quite used to such attacks, which made them almost boring. 

Almost. 

But that time had been different. Arthur had assumed that Merlin had taken cover under a bush or behind a tree like he always did, but it had been difficult to tell in the dim light. However, everything had changed when one of the bandits had shouted a spell. Instantly Arthur, Leon, Lancelot, and Gwaine had been frozen, unable to defend themselves against their assailants. It had been one of the few moments in Arthur’s life when he realized he was about to die. 

That is, until Arthur heard a shout, and suddenly Merlin of all people was clashing swords with four bandits at once. If Arthur could have screamed at him to  _ run away you blasted idiot _ he would have, but his body simply would not respond. Instead, the prince and his knights could only watch. But the strange part was that Merlin was still fighting. No, Merlin was  _ winning.  _ He cut down each bandit until only one was left, and Arthur actually saw  _ fear  _ flicker in the bandit’s eyes. 

Then the bandit uttered a string of words that Arthur didn’t understand, but it filled Arthur with sickening dread. This bandit was about to kill Merlin in front of them all. 

But then something even stranger happened. The spell, whatever it was, bounced harmlessly off of Merlin and rebounded, sending the bandit sprawling. The man’s face contorted in surprise, then shock and, finally, apprehension. 

“Y-you have magic!” the bandit had sputtered. 

Merlin’s back had been facing Arthur, but Arthur still saw him visibly flinch. Merlin didn’t turn to face Arthur, even after the bandit turned and ran from him. From  _ Merlin.  _ Who apparently had magic. Arthur scoffed as he felt the cowardly bandit’s spell finally release its hold on him. The idea was simply ridiculous. Merlin didn’t have  _ magic _ . He was just incredibly lucky. 

But when Merlin finally turned to face his friends, there were tears in his eyes. And Arthur’s entire world tumbled in on itself like a landslide. 

“Merlin?” Arthur asked, taking a tentative step forward. 

“I’m sorry, Arthur,” Merlin whispered. “I wanted to tell you for so long—it wasn’t supposed to happen like this, and—”

“Merlin, what on earth are you on about? There’s no way you have magic.  _ I  _ would know.”

Merlin just stared at him, trembling slightly. And Arthur blinked. 

_ Gwen’s not the sorcerer. I am.  _

_ Do you know how many times I’ve had to save your royal backside? _

_ Destinies… are troublesome things…  _

And suddenly a thousand questions that Arthur had about Merlin answered themselves. Arthur’s insides twisted confusingly and he saw nothing but red until Merlin was somehow under the edge of Arthur’s sword. 

“Why, Merlin? What the hell are you playing at—”

Arthur heard shouts coming from behind him and strong arms pulled him back, but all he could think about was Merlin, shaking like a leaf but standing firm, his eyes never leaving Arthur’s. It made Arthur’s blood boil—Merlin had betrayed him, had lied, and for how long? 

Merlin raised his hands slowly and Arthur couldn’t help but flinch. “It’s alright,” Arthur realized distantly that he was talking to Arthur’s knights, who were still holding their own prince back. “Arthur, you have to understand that I was born with magic. It  _ chose  _ me. And I only use it for you. To keep you safe.”

Arthur’s blood roared in his ears so loudly that he barely heard. He couldn’t hold back the bitter laugh that escaped him. He remembered the look in Morgana’s eyes not even a month ago, when she too betrayed Arthur. Oh gods, was Merlin part of it too? Was he sided with Morgana, waiting for the right moment to strike? 

_ I’m going to be at your side, like I always am. Protecting you.  _

And Arthur relented, he just let go of it all and stopped fighting against his knights. He realized then that Lancelot had been speaking. 

“—your friend, Arthur. He’s telling the truth.” 

“Merlin would never hurt you, Princess. You have to know that,” Gwaine said, his voice quieter than Arthur had ever heard it. 

Arthur panted, though his vision was slowly returning to normal. “I know.”

Everyone visibly jolted, as if shocked by his words. Arthur couldn’t blame them, because he too was just as surprised. But it was the truth. No matter what Merlin was, or what he had done, Arthur knew that he could never really hate him. And he knew that Merlin would do anything to protect him, even if it was with—with  _ magic.  _

Arthur eyed Merlin carefully. His face had gone stoic, unreadable. It was an expression that Arthur didn’t recognize. 

“Born with it, you say?” 

Merlin nodded warily, before lifting his palm. His eyes turned to a fiery gold, blazing through the dark clearing. As the glow in his eyes winked out, a small orb rose up from his hand, casting out a gentle, blue glow. Arthur felt his breath leave him involuntarily. He knew that light. 

“It was you. From the very beginning.”

Merlin nodded, his eyes softening. 

“Explain.”

And Merlin did, through the rest of the night. Arthur and his knights had gathered around Merlin’s magic, roaring fire, all listening intently to Merlin’s side of the story. Arthur soaked up every second of it, feeling pain, gratitude, guilt, anger, and a whole myriad of other things that he didn’t have a name for. Merlin had been through so much, and though he had made mistakes, he had clearly done it all for Arthur’s sake. And Arthur had had not even the slightest clue. 

“Merlin, what did I ever do to earn your loyalty? I don’t understand.”

Merlin just looked up at Arthur with that kind smile of his. It made the prince feel like a young child asking about the color of the sky. 

“Because I believe in you, Arthur, and the man you will become. You will be the greatest king the world will ever know.” 

There was such solidarity in Merlin’s voice. This boy, Arthur’s idiot servant and friend, had put every ounce of his faith in Arthur. And  _ gods _ , he didn’t deserve it. If Arthur’s knights hadn’t held him back, Arthur might’ve killed the greatest friend he had ever had in a fit of rage. And Arthur always called  _ Merlin  _ the idiot. 

Dawn was beginning to break. Suddenly, it hit Arthur that his father would be expecting him home soon. 

_ His father.  _

Oh, gods. If Uther ever found out about Merlin… Arthur shivered. He wasn’t sure if he’d be able to protect Merlin from his father. It simply wasn’t a risk that Arthur was willing to take, even if Merlin was. 

“You know you can’t return with us.” 

Merlin’s eyes darted up to meet Arthur’s. “What do you mean? After everything, I can’t just—”

“ _ I  _ can’t let you keep risking yourself like this for my sake! If my father ever found out—”

“He  _ won’t— _ ”

“Merlin,  _ enough _ !” Arthur finally snapped, fueled by a sudden burning rage that he didn’t quite understand. “You can’t keep sacrificing yourself like this. I won’t let you. You should return home, where you’ll be safe.”

But even as Arthur said it and meant it, he hated the hollow feeling that gnawed away at him. It may have been selfish, but he didn’t want Merlin to leave. And that was the kicker, wasn’t it? At first, Arthur had wanted nothing but Merlin out of his hair, and now he couldn’t imagine life without him. 

Still, Merlin was always a stubborn bastard. 

“I’m not leaving Camelot,” Merlin said, his voice low and dangerous. “I’ve put too much effort into saving your prattish hindquarters to just give up now.”

Arthur’s eyes narrowed. Merlin always had a way of getting under his skin. “This is not an argument. It’s an order. You will  _ not  _ return until it is safe, and that’s  _ final _ .”

And then there were tears in Merlin’s eyes, and Arthur’s resolve crumbled nearly to dust. 

Arthur felt his hand automatically move to rest on Merlin’s shoulder and his voice softened. “It’s for your own good—just for a little while until I can find a way to sort this out. Let me protect  _ you  _ for a change. Perhaps return home to Ealdor.” 

“I didn’t know you cared.”

“Merlin,” Arthur warned.

Arthur watched Merlin search his face before his eyes softened a bit. “Alright, but just for a little while. I owe my mother a visit anyway. But if I hear any news of anything out of the ordinary happening in Camelot, I’m coming back immediately and you can’t stop me.”

“You know I’m still the prince, right?”

“How could I forget,  _ sire _ , with all of your lovely reminders?” 

“Shut up, Merlin.”


	2. The Patrol

Merlin had only been gone for about a month, but to Arthur it had felt like a year. He found it more difficult to drag himself out of bed in the morning because he no longer had an annoying but gentle voice to encourage him. Council meetings were also harder because he had no one to trade glances and hide smirks with. Even hunting trips were horribly boring without Merlin’s ridiculous blabbering. Without Merlin, Arthur’s world had suddenly felt painfully  _ empty.  _

Arthur’s knights were still out searching for whoever had stabbed Uther in his sleep, though he had a feeling it had had something to do with Morgana. The new king shivered, guilt creeping up the length of his spine. He had a feeling that if he hadn’t sent Merlin away, his father would still be alive. Merlin had protected Uther before (gods knew why) and he had the uncanny ability to discover assassination plots before they occurred. And now Arthur understood how. 

Had he been a fool to send Merlin away? Arthur shook his head, immediately dismissing the thought. He had done what he thought was right to protect his friend. That had to be enough. 

Arthur sent out a patrol to escort Merlin back home from Ealdor. Since he had urgent business to attend to at Camelot’s eastern border and he couldn’t go himself, Arthur sent a pair of his best knights in his stead. Of course, Gwaine and Lancelot had volunteered first, so the two of them were sent. Percival, Elyan and Leon had also been quite eager to volunteer themselves, but Arthur needed them for his own mission. 

Arthur would figure out how to move forward with the whole  _ magic  _ business after Merlin came back. Arthur had a feeling that he would need some guidance, and who better to do so than the one person that had been Arthur’s advisor from the very beginning? 

“Sire? Are you ready?” 

Arthur blinked before his eyes settled on Leon, who was eyeing him with concern. He must have zoned out for a moment. 

“Yes, of course,” Arthur replied, trying to appear nonchalant. 

Leon nodded kindly, before mounting his mare. Arthur did the same, directing his horse towards the eastern gate with Elyan and Percival close behind. There had been rumors of turmoil at the eastern border. People had apparently started disappearing in the area. Of course, the citizens of Camelot in possible danger was top priority, but Arthur couldn’t help but feel torn. It may have been selfish, but he just wanted to go find Merlin. 

_ Lords, that magical idiot has turned me into a complete girl,  _ Arthur thought to himself with an exasperated chuckle. 

The ride out was surprisingly pleasant. It was a perfect, sunny day with a gentle breeze. Arthur felt himself relax as he listened to his knights—his friends—talk cheerily with one another. Arthur was just content to listen as they began swapping stories of different adventures they had before they met. He realized he was grateful to be outside the castle walls, away from all the guilt and grief that had been weighing him down. Soon, after this minor situation was handled, Merlin would be home and they could begin to heal and rebuild Camelot. 

“Someone’s approaching,” Leon suddenly hissed.

The pleasant, airy mood was immediately vanquished as Arthur and his knights quickly dismounted and slipped stealthily into the underbrush. Already, Arthur could hear approaching footsteps and what sounded like several horses hauling something large. An uneasy feeling crept up Arthur’s spine at the sound. Arthur crouched down and inched closer to the sound, peering through the thick underbrush.

It took a moment before Arthur spotted movement, but when he did, his eyes widened with shock. It looked like a band of slave traders accompanying a pair of horses dragging a large wooden cart that looked big enough for several people to fit inside. Arthur shivered at the thought. This could not continue, especially not in  _ his  _ kingdom. 

As the traders came closer, Arthur realized there were also several slaves chained to the back of the cart that were being forced to walk in heavy chains over the rough terrain. Traders armed with whips were walking alongside the captured slaves, yelling harsh words and cracking their whips mercilessly. Arthur had had enough of it. With a nod to his men, he charged forward, running straight for the traders at the front of the cart. 

Arthur made quick work of the men, slicing them down as they rushed at him. These men were mostly untrained, going at Arthur with brute force and no strategy. The smart but cowardly ones turned to flee, but Arthur’s knights were prepared and easily disbanded them. 

“Keep some alive for questioning,” Arthur ordered, before turning his attention to the captured civilians.

Arthur whispered quiet assurances to each slave as he approached the large wagon where they were all fastened to a long chain. There were both men and women, all of them looked dirty and understandably frightened.

“It’s alright, you’re all free now,” Arthur said gently before turning back towards where his men were securing the last of the slave traders. “We need the key to these chains!” 

“I think I’ve got it,” Leon replied, rushing over to Arthur with a ring of keys. “I got it off one of the dead ones.”

Leon went to work unlocking each of the prisoners, speaking kindly to them and reassuring them that they would help them get home. Arthur beamed with pride, though he had always known that Leon had a good heart. 

“Leon, do you think you could try to open this cart? I think there might be more prisoners in here.”

The knight nodded and tinkered with the keys for a moment before one finally clicked and the wooden door sprang open. Arthur squinted as his eyes adjusted to the low lighting. He gasped at the state of the prisoners inside—most were beaten and unable to stand. Arthur felt his heart clench as he rushed to assist the closest prisoner. He deflated further when he searched for a pulse and felt nothing. Holy hell. Arthur had better luck with the second person he checked—at least he was still alive. 

Arthur was getting angrier by the second. How dare these slave traders invade his land, kidnap, and murder his people? He could barely think through the ringing in his ears. 

But then, somehow, everything got  _ worse _ .

“Arthur?”

The king flinched. Leon almost never called him by his first name.

“What? What is it?” Arthur could barely see in the dark, but it looked like Leon was inspecting someone chained in the corner of the wagon.

“I—Arthur, I think it—it’s  _ Merlin _ .”


	3. A Magical Slave

Leon had to be mistaken. There was absolutely  _ no way  _ that it could be Merlin. Merlin went to Ealdor a  _ month ago.  _ He was fine. He was with his mother, taking some time off and enjoying the springtime. No, Merlin was not here, imprisoned in his terrible place, beaten to the brink of death. No, no, not Merlin, because Merlin’s a warlock or whatever the word is, and he’s too powerful to have been caught by a bunch of traders, and Merlin is fine because he’s  _ always _ fine.

It was then that Arthur finally remembered how to speak. “That’s impossible. It can’t be—”

He heard someone cough, and hell, it really did  _ sound _ like Merlin. But it wasn’t. That was just a coincidence.

“Sire, can you hold him up while I unlock these chains?”

Arthur swallowed, not wanting to get closer. Because, if it was Merlin, then it would all be real and that means that Merlin had been captured for nearly a month. A lot could’ve happened in all that time.

Finally, Arthur remembered himself and nodded, holding up the lean figure he was still having trouble seeing through the dark. Arthur felt him breathing shallowly, which made his pounding heart slow ever so slightly. 

“There,” Leon said as the chains clicked open and fell away. 

“How could you tell it’s him?” Arthur asked, his voice wavering.

“This is tied around his wrist.”

Arthur’s breath hitched as he reached out his hand and felt the familiar cloth of a certain magical manservant’s neckerchief, but why it was around his wrist was beyond him. “Merlin?”

Merlin didn’t stir. Arthur felt his heart leap with worry, and suddenly he wanted to punch a hole right through the prison wagon. He was so confused as to how Merlin had even gotten here. Had he even made it to Ealdor? Had he been imprisoned this entire time? 

“Free the others,” Arthur ordered, his focus now entirely consumed by the shivering form in his grasp.

As gently as he could, the king carried his servant out of that horrid place and into the relative safety of the forest. There he saw Elyan and Percival guarding the remaining slave traders, while the recently-freed slaves were huddled together as far away from their capturers as possible. Knowing that his knights had the situation under control, Arthur paid the slave traders little attention as he deposited Merlin gently onto a small patch of grass. It was then that Arthur finally got a good look at his friend.

Merlin was in bad shape. He was covered in dirt, bruises and scratches, but there was an especially nasty gash along his hairline that had dried and not been cleaned for what looked like a long time. It was then that Arthur noticed that Merlin was shivering, even in the evening sunlight. Arthur felt Merlin’s forehead and cursed at the heat radiating off him. Though, Arthur supposed it wasn’t surprising that Merlin would’ve caught an infection from unattended injuries and being hauled around in the back of that cart for gods knew how long.

But that wasn’t the worst of it. No, the worst of it was what suddenly answered all of Arthur’s silent, burning questions. Around Merlin’s neck, where his little red neckerchief was _always_ _supposed_ to be, there was a horribly unsettling strip of metal etched with runes. _A fucking collar._ Arthur dug his right hand into the dirt. If he had been livid before, _oh_ , now he was downright furious. 

Arthur had seen these collars before when he was young. His father would use them on prisoners suspected of using magic to take away their power until they could be burned at the stake. Only years after did Uther stop using them in his confidence that he had snuffed out all magic in Camelot. Arthur briefly scoffed at that notion, looking down at his magical idiot of a friend. 

Now it all made sense—these slave traders must’ve found out about Merlin’s powers somehow and found a way to trap him by stealing his magic. Arthur lifted Merlin’s head a bit to inspect the collar, looking for a way to open it. Merlin, though still unconscious, winced at the movement and Arthur pulled back, but not before he saw red, angry burn marks on Merlin’s skin along the rim of the collar. 

“Who the hell did this?” Arthur shouted, whirling to face his captives in one fluid motion. 

There were only four slavers left alive and three of them stumbled back to avoid Arthur’s direct stare. The last one met the angry young king’s gaze with an arrogant air about him. The man was about as large as Percival, though he had dark, rough features and an ugly scar along his right cheek.

“Well?” Arthur demanded, closing the distance between himself and what looked like the lead slaver. 

The man barked out a twisted laugh, sounding much more like a deranged beast than a human being. Arthur couldn’t help but scrunch up his nose at the unnerving sound, but it did nothing to quell his burning rage. 

The man finally spoke, his voice gravelly and cold. “Should’ve known that one was more trouble than he’s worth. Course, the chase is what makes it all more fun.”

“‘The chase?’ You were tracking him?”

The trader nodded. “Damn right. He sabotaged our camp a few weeks back and set some of our, eh,  _ merchandise _ with his freaky little magic tricks, so we set out to catch ’im. Quite a fighter, that one. Lost quite a few men trying to wrestle that collar on ’im,” the slaver licked his lips hungrily as he stared at Merlin, still lying prone at the edge of the clearing. “A damn shame. He would’ve sold for a fortune.”

Arthur’s skin crawled at the idea of Merlin getting sold off like a mere artifact. It was twisted and  _ wrong.  _ Arthur felt his fist clench, searching for blood as if it had a mind of its own. 

“There are people out there who would pay extra for magical slaves?” Elyan asked. 

The slaver just stared back at Elyan with an amused smirk that made Arthur’s neck prickle. 

“Aye, but it’s not just about the magic with that one, now, is it? A pretty, spirited little thing like that, well…” he winked mischievously at Arthur, as if they were sharing an inside joke. 

“Say that again,” Arthur threatened, bristling dangerously. 

“Why? Don’t tell me you’ve never considered it. Got eyes, haven’t ye?” The slaver shrugged, as if he was having a nice chat, and wasn’t that just  _ horrid. “ _ Had to give him a try ourselves, to make sure he was, eh,  _ suitable _ . We all took our turns with ‘im. You should’ve seen how he squirmed, ‘specially when the collar burned him for getting too vocal—”

Arthur saw red. His arms moved of their own accord in his fury. He was only distantly aware of the sound of screaming, but he didn’t  _ care.  _ This man, the things he was implying—it was too much to even begin to fathom. Arthur had never been this overwhelmed with pure rage before. The thought of Merlin, with all his power in the world, reduced to complete helplessness and violated in the most vile way possible, all while Arthur was safely tucked away in his castle. The worst of it was that Arthur had been trying to protect Merlin. Arthur suddenly felt sick and his sword hand trembled.

When Arthur’s vision had finally cleared, the slave trader was on the ground, hacked to mere pieces and staining the forest floor crimson. And Arthur felt nothing but cold satisfaction. That worthless scumbag had no right to even breathe the same air as Merlin. 

“Leon, escort these civilians to the nearest village and assist them in any way you can. Elyan, Percival, bring these prisoners back with us,” Arthur ordered, gesturing at the two remaining slave traders who were trembling in their boots. 

Elyan and Percival glanced warily at one another, but said nothing about the dead slave trader as they moved to obey. Arthur nodded once at Leon before his kingly authority melted out of him. His heart ached as his eyes landed on Merlin. He prayed to the gods that the man had been lying, but if he hadn’t…

Arthur carefully lifted his friend for the second time that day, carrying him away from this horrid place. He couldn’t help but notice how much weight Merlin had lost. He felt fragile in Arthur’s arms, like he might crumble to dust and be lost forever. Arthur set his jaw as he made the short trek back to his mare. He couldn’t wait for his knights, and he knew they’d understand his desperation. 

Merlin had to get to Camelot now.


	4. A Revelation

Merlin started coming-to while they were still on horseback. The citadel was just coming into view when Arthur felt Merlin shift against him. Arthur slowed to a trot, his heart jumping in anticipation and relief. At least now he knew that Merlin wasn’t as close to death as he had assumed. 

“Don’t worry, Merlin. We’re almost home,” Arthur whispered as they neared the city gates.

Arthur hadn’t been expecting a reaction, but Merlin was apparently more lucid than Arthur had anticipated. He suddenly started struggling, leaning dangerously over the edge of the horse’s back. 

“Woah, Merlin! Relax!” Arthur yelled, barely keeping them both from falling right off. 

Arthur tugged at the reins and his mare stopped abruptly. In one swift movement, Arthur dismounted, pulling Merlin with him. Merlin was still fighting him, his limbs going wild. He caught Arthur in the ribs, forcing the air from his lungs with a whoosh. Arthur dropped Merlin suddenly and they both sank to the forest floor. 

Arthur cradled his ribs as he turned Merlin to face him. “ _ Merlin _ ,” Arthur coughed. “It’s me. It’s me. You’re alright.”

Merlin was panting, the fight in him completely drained by that small act of defiance. His eyes widened when he finally got a good look at Arthur. Arthur recognized the myriad of emotions that shone in his eyes: surprise, disbelief, and then crushing relief. Tears began to slide down Merlin’s cheeks and he visibly deflated, leaning forward onto Arthur’s shoulder. Arthur was ready to catch him. He caught the younger boy, holding him in a gentle but firm embrace.

Arthur could feel his own resolve dissipating, his inner strength waning as Merlin’s quiet sobs chipped away at him. Who knew what kinds of tortures Merlin had been forced to endure while no one had even known to search for him? The words spoken by that slave trader invaded Arthur’s mind again, overwhelming him with nausea.

_ Had to give him a try ourselves, to make sure he was suitable. We all took our turns with him…  _

Arthur shook his head violently in an attempt to dispel that horrible voice from his mind. Merlin started at the movement, pulling away and wiping furiously at his eyes. 

“Merlin, I—I’m so sorry. I should never have sent you away, and—what? What is it?”

Merlin was suddenly tugging desperately at his neck, his eyes round. Arthur looked down and realized he was grabbing at the collar, still closed tightly around his neck. 

“We’re almost home. Gaius will know how to take it off, don’t worry,” Arthur said. 

Merlin’s hands fell away from the collar, though he still looked doubtful. Arthur frowned as he noticed new red marks on Merlin’s palms. He snatched one of Merlin’s wrists, examining the marks.

“Did the collar just burn your hands?”

Merlin pulled away and cast his eyes downward. 

“Hey, talk to me. You alright?” What a stupid thing to say. Of course he wasn’t alright.

Merlin shook his head, bringing his hands back up to the collar with a pointed look. 

“Hey, don’t touch that again! Gods, Merlin.”

Arthur batted Merlin’s hands away from the burning metal. Merlin rolled his eyes, but still said nothing. Then it dawned on Arthur. 

_ You should’ve seen how he squirmed, especially when the collar burned him for getting too vocal. _

“The collar won’t let you speak,” Arthur said slowly, the nausea returning with rising vigor. 

Merlin nodded defeatedly, his eyes growing wet again. Arthur wanted to scoff at the irony of it. When Merlin had first become Arthur’s servant, the young prince would’ve given anything to make him shut up for once. But now, his silence was crushing. It represented everything that Merlin had been through—everything Arthur was unable to protect him from. 

“Don’t worry. Gaius will know what to do. Let’s go home,” Arthur said, helping Merlin to his feet. 

The warlock swayed, but he looked more determined. As Arthur helped Merlin back into the saddle, he wondered distantly if that slave trader had been telling the truth. 

If he had been, how could Arthur ever truly help Merlin? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is so short after so long! It just felt like a good stopping point. The next chapter will have more answers, I promise. Thank you for reviewing!


	5. Home

Pain. Pain had become Merlin’s only companion after a mind-numbing month of captivity. The warlock had cursed his cockiness a thousand times over. He had only wanted to do good and save some people from a life of enslavement. He hadn’t counted on the collar.

That damned collar. Even now, Merlin could feel it burning his skin, dark magic seeping into his veins and choking out his magic. Without that warm, familiar hum of power within him, Merlin felt utterly lost. Not to mention it  _ hurt.  _ Every inch of him ached with longing. He just wanted to be free of it. 

A lot had happened that Merlin desperately wanted to be free of.

Something suddenly touched Merlin’s forehead. All he could think of was what followed a tender touch on those horrible nights when the slave traders got bored and it filled him with such dread that he cried out and jerked away. It took Merlin merely a split second before he realized that he had made a mistake when the collar flared up angrily, searing his already-scarred neck and making Merlin’s eyes water with the familiar pain. 

It was only when the pain receded to a more manageable level did Merlin register that someone was crying. He assumed it was one of the other captives, a new one most likely. A lot of them cried at first. With the collar, Merlin hardly had that luxury.

“Merlin? Can you hear me now?”

Merlin’s breath hitched. He knew that voice. Did he dare to hope? The warlock’s eyes fluttered open. His vision was blurry, but he’d recognize that kind face anywhere. Merlin almost called out his name in relief, but then he remembered. He settled for an encouraging nod. Gaius smiled past the tears wetting his face. 

“Oh, my boy. I didn’t mean to frighten you, I was just trying to get your fever down. May I?” Gaius gestured to a cloth sitting on Merlin’s bedside table.

Merlin nodded, allowing the physician to cool his brow. He sighed in relief when Gaius laid it gently on his forehead. 

“You gave us all quite a scare. We all thought you were in Ealdor, but then Arthur brought you into the citadel…”

Merlin was suddenly struck with vague memories of falling off a horse, strong but gentle hands holding him steady, and then some undignified tears. Seeing Arthur again had been overwhelming—Merlin had never expected to see any of his friends ever again. And just like that, Merlin was struck with an overwhelming sense of relief that he was actually  _ home _ .

The warlock hadn’t even realized he’d been crying until Gaius wiped his tears away with a shaky hand. 

“Dear boy, what happened out there?” Gaius asked quietly.

Merlin shook his head, gesturing weakly towards the burning metal clasped tightly around his neck. 

“Arthur told me about that,” the physician said with a grimace as if the collar was burning him as well. “Don’t worry, we’ll find a way to get it off you. In the meantime, you should rest. Are you in any pain?”

Merlin wanted to deny it, but he was so tired of being strong. He resorted to nodding his head in response. Gaius patted him lightly, looking even more concerned and failing to mask it. 

“I’ll prepare a tonic to go with your food if you feel up to eat. Don’t fall back asleep just yet.”

Gaius left the room, but he let the door stay open. Merlin was grateful for it. The sounds of the hearth and the physician preparing a potion were comforting in ways the warlock had never really appreciated before. Merlin didn’t mean to, but he started to drift off in the homely atmosphere. That is, until someone started talking rather loudly in the other room. 

“Well, how is he?”

“Go see for yourself,” Gaius replied. 

Merlin hardly had time to rub his eyes before Arthur was standing over him, looking disheveled. He looked openly concerned, just like he had in the forest when Merlin had first awoken. The warlock wanted to shrink away from Arthur’s expression. He looked like he  _ knew _ . Merlin felt a shiver wrack his body before he shook his head, banishing the thought. There was no way Arthur could know about what had happened to him. And there was no way he’d ever find out. 

“You’re looking a bit better,” Arthur said with uncharacteristic timidness. 

Merlin desperately wanted to crack a joke and diffuse the suffocating tension. All he could do was raise his eyebrows and nod. 

“I won’t be here too long, don’t worry. I just wanted to check in on you before turning in for the night.” Arthur paused for a moment, as if considering what to say next. “Gaius is looking for ways to take the… you know… the collar off. I suppose we can talk more then.”

Arthur smiled kindly, though it didn’t reach his eyes. Merlin could tell just how unnerved he was, which was comforting in a sort of morbid way. The warlock returned the smile, hoping to convey that he was grateful for everything Arthur had done for him. It seemed to have relaxed him, if only slightly.

“Get some rest. I’ll be seeing you tomorrow.”

Merlin nodded, watching Arthur go. He had to swallow past the feeling that their troubles had just begun.


	6. The Spell

It had been nearly a week since Merlin had returned to Camelot and Merlin still had that cursed collar around his scarred neck. Arthur was sick of looking at it and he knew that Merlin was beyond sick of it preventing him from being able to speak. He looked ready to burst at any moment—he always did have so much to say. 

And Arthur missed him. 

Sure, Arthur saw him every day. Merlin always smiled cheerfully, even though he was still bed-ridden. But Arthur could see the haunted look in his eyes and the fear that never really went away. It was driving Arthur mad because they couldn’t talk about it. Arthur could ask all he wanted, but Merlin couldn’t answer. And all Arthur wanted to do was ask. 

When Arthur came down to visit that day, he was pleasantly surprised to see Merlin up and about. The warlock was brewing some kind of potion while Gwaine lounged on the bench next to him, talking enthusiastically about his and Lancelot’s trip to Ealdor. He wisely skirted around the reason for the trip, though everyone already knew that he had gone to fetch Merlin. 

“Wonderful woman, your mother. She went on and on about you. She was so happy to hear that we all know about your magic that she cried. And then, well…”

Arthur cleared his throat, saving Gwaine from a heavy silence full of oppressive meaning. 

“Ah, the princess is here!”

“Sir Gwaine, nice to have you back.”

“Nice to be back with a roof over my head and plenty of food to swipe from the kitchens,” the knight replied with a smirk. 

Merlin shook his head in exasperation before giving Arthur a slight bow in acknowledgement. It made Arthur’s heart sink every time. He’d never get used to the absence of Merlin’s steady voice. 

“Glad to see you’re up and walking,” Arthur said when he caught Merlin’s eye again. 

Merlin smiled, though there was little mirth in it. 

“Have you seen Gaius? I’d like to ask him about his research.” 

“He was here earlier this morning. As far as I’m aware, he still has yet to find anything,” Gwaine replied, his former cheeriness fleeing his features. 

Arthur cursed, pressing his fist to the table top where Merlin had been working. The warlock froze where he stood for a moment, then gently set a hand on Arthur’s shoulder. The regent looked up at Merlin, whose eyes seemed to say:  _ it’ll be alright.  _

And wasn’t that just the most ridiculous thing? Here Merlin was, acting as Arthur’s rock, like always. It filled Arthur with guilt and he cursed himself.  _ Merlin  _ was the one with the magical collar around his neck! Arthur was prepared to voice his indigance, but his thoughts were interrupted when Gaius burst in. 

“I’ve got it, Merlin! I…” The physician trailed off and visibly paled when he saw Arthur standing there. “Oh, sire. I wasn’t expecting you t—”

“Did you find something out about the collar?” Arthur asked, feeling hope grip his chest for the first time in days. 

Gaius looked like a deer cornered by a pack of hunting dogs. “No, no. It’s not the collar… I just… I found a certain rare herb to help with the burns.”

Arthur frowned at the physician’s skittishness. “Where is it, then?”

“Where is what?”

“The herb, Gaius.” Gaius paled even further. Arthur glanced at Merlin, who had a hand on his forehead and was staring at the floor. “What’s going on?” 

Gaius gaped, unable to summon a response. Arthur looked back at Merlin, who looked decidedly uncomfortable. Realization struck Arthur suddenly. 

“You didn’t tell him that I know about your magic before you left for Ealdor?” Arthur demanded. 

Arthur ignored the gasp of shock from behind him, his focus entirely on Merlin. The warlock shook his head, his eyes round. 

“Merlin! How did this happen?” Gaius asked, his voice trembling slightly. 

Merlin raised his hands in a helpless gesture, unable to respond to the assault of questions. 

“He was protecting us against a bandit that also happened to be a sorcerer. He had no choice,” Gwaine said as he laid a hand on Merlin’s shoulder. 

Merlin nodded gratefully at Gwaine.

“I still don’t understand why you wouldn’t have said anything,” said Arthur.

“I suspect that he didn’t want to worry me. I’ve always been quite… adamant about keeping his secret.” Gaius patted Merlin’s hand, then said quietly, “dear boy, it’s alright. I understand.” 

The warlock smiled, looking relieved. Arthur pretended not to notice the build-up of unshed tears in his bright eyes. 

“So, what was it that you found?” Arthur asked eagerly. 

“Ah, yes. I found a spellbook in the library in that secret chamber you found, Merlin. I discovered a spell that I believe will erode the dark magic woven into the collar’s mechanisms. I’m going to give it a try, but it’s a powerful spell. I’m not sure if I can do it.”

Arthur made a mental note to ask about the secret chamber later. There were far more important things at hand. 

“You can do it, Gaius,” Gwaine said. 

Merlin nodded along, eyes brimming with newfound hope. 

“I’ll do my best. Are you ready, Merlin? This may be unpleasant.” 

Merlin sat down on the bench, his features pinched up with determination. He took a deep breath and nodded his assent. Gaius reached out a hand and rested it on Merlin’s forehead. 

“ _ Ic þe todrifan  _ _ líesing beclencan o dimnes gléd balocræft fordēþ! _ ”

Arthur held his breath and watched, awestruck, as the collar began to glow red during the height of the spell. Merlin winced, digging into his thighs as the metal blazed brighter. Arthur could tell that he had to physically bite back cries of anguish, his lips pressed into a thin line with the effort. And still, the collar blazed furiously, as if angered by the aggressive spell. Merlin gasped, sliding forward off the bench and towards the floor. 

“Merlin!” Arthur yelled in alarm, rushing forward to catch the brunt of his weight. 

Merlin hardly acknowledged him as he shook, desperately holding back from releasing even a whimper. Arthur briefly registered Gwaine flanking Merlin on the other side, his brow pinched with blatant worry.

“Gaius, what’s happening? Why isn’t it coming off?” Arthur cried.

“I don’t know, it should be — ”

Whatever the physician had been about to say was cut off when Merlin couldn’t take it anymore and released a gut-wrenching scream from the pain. Arthur’s stomach dropped at the sound, partly because it was broken and strangled and  _ heart-breaking _ , but also because Arthur knew what would come next. 

The collar flared up again with elevated vigor, eager to punish Merlin for daring to utter even a brief sound. He gasped for breath, his hands desperately clawing at the offending metal even though Arthur knew it was burning his fingertips. 

“Merlin, don’t,” Arthur said, ignoring the way his own voice cracked as he pulled the warlock’s hands away. “Don’t make it worse. You just have to ride it out.”

Arthur had no idea if Merlin even heard him, but the warlock seemed to be trying to take deep breaths to calm himself. That is, until he suddenly slumped forward and Arthur and Gwaine had to reach up to catch him. 

“Quick, give him this,” Gaius ordered, shoving a tincture into Gwaine’s hands. 

Arthur hadn’t even noticed the physician move to fetch the vial. Not that it mattered. Arthur tilted Merlin’s head back while Gwaine poured the liquid into Merlin’s mouth. Arthur tried to ignore the way the warlock’s eyes were glassy and unfocused and the fact that he’d paled considerably. Merlin choked down the liquid with a shudder, his body refusing to still under such unrelenting pain.

Thankfully, the potion did its work quickly. Arthur watched until Merlin’s eyes rolled closed and he finally relaxed against Arthur. The moment the warlock slipped into unconsciousness, the collar returned to its previous cold silver, no longer a glaring red. The room suddenly plunged into stunned silence.

“Well,  _ that  _ failed miserably,” Gwaine huffed, regarding the collar with pure disdain. 

Arthur looked up at Gaius, who looked frazzled with surprise and worry. “Now what?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know literally nothing about Old English, and I’m certain I didn’t conjugate the verbs correctly, but I created the spell to translate roughly to: “dispel, release your hold, oh dark, burning magic that corrupts.”


	7. The Plains of Denaria

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello, all! Sorry this story has been taking me so long… I know where I want the story to end up but I’m having trouble getting there. I’m hoping to be more consistent in my updates for the next few weeks. Anyways, the plot thickens...

Merlin thought he had grown used to the pain. It was always there, crouching under the surface like a viper waiting for the perfect time to strike. But now, it had struck and Merlin could feel it with his entire being. The endless burning at his neck was bad enough, but the ache of his magic severed from him felt like he had lost a limb. His own emptiness screamed at him, begging to be filled once again. Merlin had never known life without his magic there until now, and it was  _ killing _ him. He had a feeling that if the collar didn’t come off soon, he wouldn’t have long for this world. 

The warlock heard rustling near him, and then a sudden, cool cloth was resting on his forehead. His eyes cracked open and he winced at the dim light invading his eyes. He merely glimpsed Guinevere sitting there with a furrowed brow while she tended to him. Merlin wanted to call out to her, but his neck twitched at the thought and he felt despair twist up in his chest. Merlin’s eyes slipped closed against his will and he faded away.

The next time Merlin resurfaced, it was lighter in his room, though it hurt his eyes less. He registered Lancelot and Elyan in the corner, speaking in hushed tones. There was still a cool cloth resting on his brow, meaning that someone had been consistently changing it out. Merlin smiled at the thought, wanting nothing more than to be able to thank his friends with his own voice. He tried to shift, hoping to catch the knights’ attention, but he found that he was still too weak to move more than a few centimeters. Merlin wanted to yell out in frustration despite his better judgement, but instead he found himself slipping under again. 

When Merlin opened his eyes the third time, it was light out, though he was unsure as to how much time had passed between his bouts of consciousness. The warlock shifted and was surprised to find that he had quite a bit more mobility this time around. He turned his head, searching out a glass of water, then froze when he saw Arthur sitting there, wringing his hands distractedly. 

“Merlin? Oh good, you’re awake!” Arthur smiled brightly, though his eyes were tired and crinkled around the edges. 

Merlin was stricken with the intense flood of relief that someone finally knew that he was conscious. He hadn’t heard anyone’s voice in what felt like a week. Merlin hadn’t even realized tears were falling until he felt Arthur swipe them away gently with his thumb. 

“Come on, Merlin. None of that, it’s alright. Are you in pain?” 

Merlin shook his head. For once, he really wasn’t, except for the aching throb of his severed magic. There wasn’t anything anyone could do about that anyways. 

Arthur deflated a bit. “That’s good. You scared the shit out of us the other night.” Merlin felt his eyebrows rise, and Arthur quickly clarified, “mostly Gwaine.”

Merlin rolled his eyes, but he felt his lips curl into a smile despite his exasperation. He turned his head again, reaching out towards the cup of water he noticed at the edge of his bedside table. Arthur straightened, grabbing the glass before Merlin could even get close and placed it in his hands. Merlin nodded gratefully before drinking the soothing liquid with controlled gulps. Arthur took it back when he had finished with it. 

“I’m glad I caught you. I wasn’t sure if you’d be awake before I left.”

Merlin gazed up at Arthur, his eyebrows drawing together in an unspoken question. 

“Morgana has been spotted on the Plains of Denaria. We think she’s headed to the Isle of the Blessed. She’s up to something, and I need to go find out what.”

Merlin felt his breath catch in his throat. Did Arthur really think it was a good idea to go chasing after Morgana after everything that had happened? The warlock sat up, feeling dizzy but hopefully capable of standing. 

“ _ Mer _ lin, sit  _ down.  _ You’re not going anywhere after all that you’ve been through. Besides, you don’t even have your magic to defend yourself.” 

_ Gods _ , Merlin just wanted to scream. He wanted to wrench that god forsaken metal right off his neck with his bare hands. He seethed, unable to articulate what a complete  _ arse  _ Arthur was being. Did he really think he could take on Morgana, especially at a place like the Isle of the Blessed? And did he really think he could stop Merlin from coming with him? 

“I know you’re upset, but I can’t ignore this and I can’t let you come with me. Not this time. I’m sorry.” 

Arthur looked just as torn up as Merlin felt. He stood from his stool, turning to leave. The warlock reached out, grabbing desperately at Arthur’s arm. Arthur pulled away, but Merlin just tightened his grip. He shook his head when Arthur looked back at him. 

_ Don’t. Don’t leave. I can’t protect you like this.  _

“I’ll be fine, so stop worrying like a mother hen. I’ve got the best knights in Camelot at my side. Now get some rest, or I’ll have Gaius come in here and  _ make  _ you.” Arthur slipped out of Merlin’s hold. 

Arthur hesitated at the door, his hand hovering idly for a moment. Then he was gone. Merlin huffed, sitting back up and planting his feet on the floor. The warlock was quite familiar with the Isle of the Blessed. He’d get a later start than the rest of the patrol to ensure that no one would try to stop him on his way, but he’d make fast time by cutting through the Valley of the Fallen Kings. Merlin didn’t even have to think twice about it.

There was no way in hell he was staying behind.


	8. The Isle

Arthur was growing uncertain. Of course, there was no way he could ignore a probable threat to Camelot, but that didn’t mean that he felt good about it. Arthur flexed his fingers, recalling the desperation he had felt in Merlin’s grip, had seen in his eyes. The gesture had surprised Arthur. Not the part about Merlin wanting to come along, placing himself in danger for Arthur’s sake — no, that had come to be an expectation that came with the idiot warlock. What had surprised him was that Merlin had touched him at all. It hadn’t escaped Arthur’s notice that Merlin avoided being touched at all costs, as if even the smallest brush of skin would burn him. 

He did a good job of hiding it, but Arthur saw how he masked every flinch by drawing attention to something else. It was a good tactic, one that Arthur himself had used before. It tore at his heart to see how damaged Merlin was and how he did his best to hide it. Arthur shivered. He knew trauma like that doesn’t just go away, especially if one lacked the freedom to talk about it. By the gods, if they couldn’t find a way to get that damned collar off, Arthur was going to rip it off with his bare hands. 

Arthur ended up spending a majority of the journey to the Isle of the Blessed wrapped up in his own head. His thoughts kept circling back around to Merlin, who was so noticeably  _ not next to him.  _ The lack of his presence was louder than his mindless chatter had ever been. Arthur’s chest ached at the realization that he hadn’t heard Merlin’s voice in months. Out of desperation to distract himself, Arthur tuned into Gwaine and Percival’s current argument.

“ —wasn’t  _ drunk _ , if anything,  _ you _ were—”

“Everyone knows you’re a lightweight, Percy. No shame in it.”

Elyan didn’t even try to hide his snicker. Arthur’s mouth pulled into a small smile despite himself. 

“How could I be? You’re a third of my size!”

“Ah. It’s about experience, and I’m afraid I’ve got you beat in that department, my friend.”

“I’m not sure that’s something to brag about,” said Lancelot from somewhere near the back of the caravan.

“You lot are just jealous,” Gwaine said with a convenient flip of his hair.

With an indignant shake of his head, Arthur called them to a stop for the night. When Lancelot offered to collect firewood, the ache returned. 

“I wish Merlin were here. He really knows how to spice up a good meal instead of drowning it in salt like Leon, here,” Gwaine said, ruffling Leon’s golden locks.

Leon scoffed. “I’d like to see you try it sometime.”

Arthur watched, but couldn’t bring it in himself to smile this time. He turned his glance, instead, towards the white mountains just as the sun slipped behind them with a final splash of gold, as if to say farewell. Arthur shivered, though the sky had not yet grown dark. He wondered if it had more to do with the uneasy feeling that hadn’t left his gut since he’d left the citadel.

* * *

“What do you suppose the witch is up to, then?” Gwaine asked, breaching the apprehensive silence that had encased the group as they neared the ruins. The Isle of the Blessed wasn’t in sight yet, thanks to a thick fog, but they could almost  _ feel  _ it. 

Arthur shook his head. “I’m not sure, but I know it can’t be good.”

The sense of foreboding in the air attested to that. If Merlin was with them, he would’ve said something about having a ‘funny feeling’ or some other nonsense. Arthur suddenly wondered if his magic was behind them. He supposed it made sense, since Merlin somehow seemed to sense things before the rest of them, despite never being battle-trained.

“I think we should close in before the moon reaches its peak.”

Arthur turned, eyebrows raised. It had been Percival who had spoken.

“And why do you say that?”

The knight shrugged. “It’s Samhain, if I’m not mistaken, sire. Rituals are often performed on this night, when the veil between our world and the spirit world is thinnest.” All the knights halted at that, heads turning to look at him. “What? I’ve seen a lot in my traveling days.”

Arthur just rolled his eyes. It had sounded like something Gaius would’ve said before everything went sideways. But instead of ignoring the warning like he usually would’ve, Arthur took it into account.

“We’ll dismount now, make the rest of the walk on foot. Stay alert.”

His men followed his orders in perfect synchronicity, sliding from their mounts and lashing them to the trees before slinking stealthily into the underbrush with their weapons drawn. Arthur and Leon took the lead, eyes straining to see through the fog as they approached where the isle was known to be. The sun must have set as they trekked, for the light was quickly waning. The temperature began to drop unnaturally, and not a single cricket uttered a sound. It was as if the earth was holding its breath, waiting for the next move.

It was then that Arthur heard the whisper of water nearby. He signalled to his men to slow their pace, before creeping forward again. As his eyes adjusted continually to the growing darkness, he could just make out a shape in the fog. As he inched closer, he realized it was a small dock. Arthur approached warily, searching out any signs of life, but it appeared deserted. That is, until he turned to his right and came face to face with a man in a cloak who was not standing there mere moments before.

Arthur raised his sword on instinct. “Who are you?”

The man just blinked at him, unfazed by the weapon. He then gestured to a small boat behind him and looked back at Arthur, pointedly holding his hand out.

“Did a sorceress come this way?” Arthur asked.

The man’s face remained unchanged. His hand, however, stretched out further. Arthur sighed, knowing that this man would likely not even give him any kind of indication towards an answer. The regent pulled out a gold coin from the pack at his waist and placed it into the ferryman’s outstretched hand. The man nodded, then beckoned him to the little boat. Arthur waved his men over, and they all clambered in. The ferryman remained silent, but the boat moved of its own accord towards the ruins that Arthur could just barely make out through the fog. 

The tense silence had returned as the knights approached the isle, settling over them as thickly as the fog. Arthur strained his hearing, hoping to detect any sign of Morgana’s presence. For a while, he heard nothing but the quiet rustling of the water as it crashed against the boat. Then, he heard it: a horrible screeching that tore angrily through the eerie calm. 

“What the  _ hell  _ was that?” Elyan demanded, drawing his sword up.

“Let’s hope I’m wrong,” Gwaine said uneasily.

It wasn’t much of an answer, though Arthur also had a pretty good guess as to what had made the awful sound. The ferryman remained silent, even as the boat bumped against the stony edge of the ruins. Arthur leapt up off the boat first, followed quickly by the rest of his men. 

“Keep your eyes on the sky,” Arthur warned.

Sure enough, Arthur and Gwaine had pegged the cries correctly. Three wyverns closed in on them, swooping swiftly down in a tangle of horns and claws and teeth. Arthur sliced upwards with his sword, landing a lucky blow and catching one of the creature’s wings. The wyvern cried out before barreling into one of the towers, bringing a rain of stone down on them. Lancelot pushed them all towards cover on the opposite side of the clearing, just as the other two wyverns lunged at them, hungry for revenge. Leon, Elyan, and Percival held them at bay, slicing their swords in wide arcs above their heads. 

“Go, sire! We’ll hold them off,” Leon shouted.

Arthur nodded, gesturing for Gwaine and Lancelot to follow him. He felt both knights flank him as they approached the courtyard and felt comforted by their presence. Still, there was a pang of longing for one more to fill the gap at his right hand. Arthur shook himself. Now was not the time to allow himself to be distracted. Besides, Merlin was home. Safe.

As they neared the center of the ruins, Arthur crouched down low. He could hear whispers—what sounded like two women. Arthur was willing to bet it was Morgana and Morgause. His blood boiled at the thought of the two of them plotting against him, after everything they’d been through together. Arthur almost staggered to a stop, his determination to protect Camelot the only thing still driving him forward. 

Arthur ducked under a stone archway, diving swiftly for cover behind a large piece of rubble scattered at the edge of the courtyard. He felt more than heard Lancelot and Gwaine copy his movements only a few moments later. Arthur traded a glance with them before daring to peek over the rubble. His breath left him in a quick hiss. He’d been right: Morgana and Morgause were huddled in the center of the courtyard, speaking in hushed tones. They were leaning against what looked like a stone altar. Arthur shivered at the mere sight of it. It looked just big enough for a human to lay over it. 

Arthur considered his options. They could try their luck and advance on them now, relying on their surprise to overtake them. Or, Arthur could scope the place out more and find a better place to launch an attack from. That seemed like the wiser choice, but he wasn’t sure how much time they had before the witches started whatever they’d come here for. What had Percival said? A ritual?

“Boys, do you plan to loiter there all night?” A mocking voice called out.

Arthur’s blood ran cold. So much for a surprise attack. Arthur rolled his shoulders, steeling his nerves, before stepping forward to meet the sorceresses. Lancelot and Gwaine were solid rocks at his flanks. 

The moonlight was beginning to peek through the heavy fog, shining almost deliberately on the two high priestesses. Morgana looked as hauntingly beautiful as ever, her green eyes sharp and piercing as she watched Arthur approach. She practically smirked down at his sword, held out towards her. Morgause, however, looked quite different from when Arthur had last seen her. The sorceress was leaning heavily on Morgana for support, and her face was mangled with scars. Her right eye was now milky-white and unseeing. Arthur would’ve felt pity at the sight of her if he didn’t know her for what she was. It gave them an advantage—hopefully Morgause’s magic was just as weak as she appeared to be.

“What’s your business here, Morgana?” Arthur ground out. 

His sister laughed coldly. “It is I who should be asking  _ you _ that, don’t you think?”

“You made it my business, the moment you betrayed Camelot,” Arthur said, fighting to keep his voice from wavering.

Morgana scoffed. “Please, like Camelot ever meant anything to me. If anyone had found out who I really am, I would’ve been killed for it.”

Arthur’s heart clenched with guilt. He’d been able to accept Merlin, but never had the chance to prove himself to his own sister. Arthur was not his father. 

“It doesn’t have to be like that anymore. We can fix things. You can come  _ home. _ ” And he meant it. Every word. 

Morgana’s expression wavered for a fraction of a second before the cold indifference returned. “It’s much too late for that, I think.  _ Hathian _ !”

Arthur’s sword suddenly grew scorching hot in his hands. He yelped, dropping it before his mind could catch up with him. He heard a muffled curse next to him and knew that the same had happened to his comrades. 

Morgana made a sound then, too shrill and humorless to really be a laugh. “As it happens, I’m actually quite glad to see you all here. I was prepared to sacrifice my own sister here for our cause, but now it seems I won’t have to, as you all have so generously offered yourselves up to me.”

_ Sister?  _ The thought turned Arthur’s stomach. So what did that make _ him _ in relation to Morgause?

“You’ll have to go through us if you want to sacrifice him,” Gwaine spat, lurching forward.

Morgana’s gaze never strayed from Arthur’s, even as she responded. “I have no intention to sacrifice the future king tonight. No, tonight he will witness a horror so terrible, it will destroy him and his kingdom forever.”

Arthur tried his best not to react, to show weakness, but he flinched nonetheless at her cutting words. He laid a hand over the concealed dagger on his belt, inching forward as discreetly as he could.

“Which one of you pretty boys would like the honor of being my sacrifice?” Morgana said, her teeth glinting in the moonlight as she grinned wickedly. 

Arthur snapped. He whipped his dagger out as he lunged at Morgana. She looked surprised for a moment, before quickly knocking Morgause to the side and falling over her in a protective stance. The sight angered Arthur even further. Morgana whirled around, her eyes round. Arthur hesitated.

“ _ Ástryce _ !” Morgana cried.

The spell sent Arthur flying backwards. He collided with the edge of the altar. Arthur grunted in pain as his head and leg connected with the cold stone. His vision was swimming, sound muffling in his ears, and his leg throbbed painfully. Arthur watched detachedly as Morgana dispatched Gwaine and Lancelot with a mere flick of her wrist and a scream of fury.

“Camelot will pay for all that you and your father have put me through, Arthur Pendragon! Starting with your precious knights!”

Arthur shook, pushing himself away from the altar before falling back on it. Morgana was dragging Lancelot by his hair to the altar, brandishing Arthur’s discarded knife. Arthur yelled, fighting to regain his footing, while Morgana began chanting. As the spell grew in strength, the very air grew cold and turbulent around them. 

“Morgana, please!” Arthur shouted.

Morgana ignored him, her voice growing louder. Arthur pushed himself forward again, this time pitching forward onto his hands and knees. He noticed a figure swiftly approaching and assumed it was Gwaine in a last ditch effort to save Lancelot. Arthur frowned when he realized that Gwaine was lying unconscious a few feet away, and the figure approaching was far more lean, but  _ familiar. _ Painfully so.

“Merlin?” It came out as a whisper, a wish, on his tongue.

Morgana, wholly engrossed in her incantation, remained oblivious to Merlin’s appearance. Arthur stared dumbly as the warlock grinned at him and held a finger to his lips. He then proceeded to barrel into Morgana, choking her words and knocking her away from the altar. The sorceress cried out in alarm, slashing the knife wildly through the air. Merlin just barely managed to avoid getting stabbed in the face. 

Merlin untangled himself from Morgana’s flailing limbs and returned to the altar, pushing Lancelot off of it in one fluid motion. 

“ _ Merlin _ ! I should’ve known, damn you!” Morgana screeched as she returned unsteadily to her feet. 

Merlin said nothing as he straightened up, the collar glinting in the moonlight under his neckerchief. He met Morgana’s wild stare with calm eyes.

“The time has passed, sister. The Veil cannot be opened,” Morgause said weakly from where she still laid sprawled on the ground. 

Morgana rolled her shoulders, an eerie blank look falling over her face. It was more chilling than her wrathful madness. 

“Very well. This has gone on long enough. Merlin, say goodbye to your king,” Morgana spat.

Arthur hardly had time to comprehend the threat before a searing pain enveloped him. He gasped, biting at his lip to keep from screaming. It was futile—the pain was like fire pulsing in his veins, charring him from the inside. It consumed his every thought and sensation until there was nothing but the endless pain and all he could do was scream.

But then it stopped. Arthur grew cold, the fire fleeing and leaving him hollowed out. It was hard to breathe, but still Arthur fought to pull in one breath after another. His eyes were still open, somehow, and he lazily tracked the scene playing out before him. Perhaps he was dreaming, however, because what he saw didn’t make much sense.

Merlin was  _ glowing _ , like he had been positively drenched in molten gold. Arthur blinked, but the vision remained. In fact, he could feel a buzzing around him, as if the very air around them was humming with power. The light suddenly faded, and Morgana was shouting something—it sounded like a name, a name Arthur didn’t recognize. Then more light appeared, but it was dimmer, coming from Morgana’s hands. Merlin hardly even blinked.

“Flee now, or I’ll have to end you.” It was Merlin who had spoken.  _ Merlin had spoken. _

And Morgana actually did. She grabbed Morgause and disappeared into the night. Arthur tried to move, but a pathetic groan ripped from his lips.

“Arthur, hold on.”

Then Merlin was there, holding him, and Arthur felt warmer. It was getting harder to breathe. Merlin frowned at him for a moment before placing a hand on Arthur’s forehead. He shut his eyes tightly, rocking Arthur soothingly as he began whispering some kind of spell. Arthur felt Merlin’s magic flow over him, and it felt incredibly safe and somehow  _ familiar.  _ The next breath Arthur took was deep and filling, and he coughed out of surprise. 

“You’re alright,” Merlin whispered, a smile gracing his lips.

Arthur sat up, feeling invigorated. “Merlin, how on earth did you—”

It was then, as his head finally cleared, that Arthur realized how much Merlin was trembling against him. Merlin was panting, his nose gushing blood and his eyelids fluttered. The collar was  _ gone _ , truly gone, leaving exposed scorch marks that had to hurt like hell. But Arthur had seen it on Merlin’s neck, mere minutes before that extensive display of magic. Had he  _ broken  _ out of it somehow? Arthur didn’t think such a thing was possible.

“Merlin, what did you do? Gods, you’re shaking.”

Merlin just grinned half-heartedly, his eyes shining. “I couldn’t let her do it.”

The warlock’s eyes fluttered again and then he was falling against Arthur. Arthur caught him, cradling his head to his chest. He pressed his palm to Merlin’s chest, sighing in relief at the weak pulse he felt there. At least it was something. 

“What am I going to do with you, you idiot?” Arthur whispered into his dark hair.

Arthur removed his cloak, wrapping Merlin in it despite the chill in the air. Even when his knights came to find them, Arthur refused to let go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, it’s been a while. I hope you all enjoyed this absolute monster of a chapter to make up for it. I have a few more chapters in mind to wrap this story up. Thanks for reading and reviewing, as always. Much love.


	9. Floating

He was floating, somewhere dark and cold. He felt the world moving around him, but couldn’t get himself to push back against it. So he floated.

Then there was something hard but solid beneath him. A burst of pins and needles flared up throughout his body, making his head buzz. Something touched his arms, his forehead, his hair. It helped him fight against the lingering cold. At least, until the touches retreated. It took him an impossibly long time to realize that there were voices all around him, like his mind had been receiving information through a pool of molasses. 

“—safe to move him? Camelot is still another day’s ride.” 

“What else can we do? Only Gaius will know what’s happening. Besides, he’s burning unnaturally hot—you’ve felt it. Who knows how much more he can take?”

If he could feel his own face, he’d twist it up and tell the voices that he’s actually  _ freezing _ , that they’ve got it wrong. But that name,  _ Gaius,  _ brought him a burst of warmth, drawing out a sigh from somewhere within him. 

“Merlin?” The hands returned, though they were more hesitant this time. “I can hardly touch him, Lance. How do we bring his fever down?”

“I’m not sure it even  _ is  _ a fever, sire.”

“Then what can we do?”

The voices suddenly started to blend together around him, growing more and more indecipherable. He shut them out, sinking deeper into the darkness, even though it saddened him. He knew those voices, he was sure of it. They both brought him comfort, though in different ways he didn’t quite understand. Not that he understood much of anything at the moment. 

The next time he resurfaced, he still felt the pins and needles where the solid ground came up to meet him. Something soft was stroking him, wetting his face, but somehow it helped him combat the bone-deep cold lurking within, which confused him further for some reason. 

“You saved my life again, Merlin,” a voice whispered with surprising clarity near his ear. “You know, I still think about the day I found out about your magic whenever I look at you. That day you risked everything to protect me and Arthur from that griffin. I remember thinking—how is he so unafraid in a place like Camelot?” A sigh. “I suppose you have no room for fear in that big heart of yours.” 

And then he remembered Lancelot, quite suddenly. Mostly his kind smile, and the way he made Merlin feel safe, even after discovering his secret. His secret. Magic. What happened to it? He could feel it, even now, curling up within him as if seeking to make itself smaller. It ached in a way that was foreign, yet too familiar at the same time. 

That was when he remembered the collar—that depraved  _ thing _ that had ripped his magic from him for weeks, draining his life-force in the process. And now his magic felt crippled somehow. It was then that the memories of his enslavement invaded his mind, assaulting him with images and emotions that he lacked the strength to push away. 

_ Caught ourselves a pretty one, haven’t we? _

_ We’re going to have to break that rebellious spirit right out of him.  _

_ You belong to us now, boy.  _

“Merlin? Merlin, hey, calm down!” 

Hands were on his arms again, but this time they made the ache in him spike instead of warming him. 

“What’s happening?” Merlin knew that voice, he longed to remember it. 

“I think he’s dreaming, but he won’t wake—”

“Merlin,” another set of hands on his face, “can you hear me? Merlin, it’s alright, you’re alright. I just need you to breathe.” 

Both sets of hands released him. Merlin vaguely wondered if he had pushed them off. 

“Merlin, don’t fight me.  _ Please.  _ It’s me, it’s Arthur. You’re safe.”

_ Arthur.  _ Merlin remembered Arthur, of course he did. It came in a flash, infinite moments of mixed exasperation and fondness, fleeting touches carrying far more weight than they should, meaningful glances that sought to express what could never be spoken. A level of security and vulnerability that should  _ hurt _ but instead it chased off the cold, if only for a little while.

“Sire, you shouldn’t—he’ll scorch you at this rate.”

“Get some rest,” Arthur said, in his usual evasive way. “You deserve it. I’ll stay up with him.”

Something warm and solid brushed up against Merlin’s side and remained there. He turned towards it, towards what he figured was Arthur. He heard an indignant scoff.

“Always the girl.”

Fingers brushed tentatively at the hair swept across Merlin’s forehead. If the warlock wasn’t already sinking back into the blackness, he might’ve laughed at the irony of it.


	10. Half the Battle

Too many close calls. If this continued, Arthur might have to chain Merlin to his own damn bed to keep him out of trouble. They had just arrived in Camelot, each of the knights had taken turns riding with Merlin because of, well, whatever it was happening that made his body as hot as the sun. Gwaine had him last, and he’d made it the rest of the way to the citadel out of pure spite and determination, Arthur was sure of it. 

Arthur pressed his mare forward through the growing crowd of onlookers, ignoring their whispering and directing his attention towards reaching the castle as quickly as possible. He was highly grateful to Leon, who seemed to read his mind.

“Make way for his royal highness!” he shouted, coming up to flank Arthur at his left side. 

The crowd split like rock. Arthur nodded at Leon, who quirked an eyebrow back at him.

“Leon, ride ahead and let Gaius know what’s going on. We’ll be there shortly.” 

Leon nodded immediately, coaxing his horse into a gallop and dissolving into the sea of onlookers.

“Gwaine, you and Lancelot will go with me to Gaius’ chambers. Elyan and Percival, make sure the horses make it to the stables and then go inform the council that I will come speak with them as soon as I am able.”

His knights all nodded diligently as they fanned out into the courtyard. Arthur and Lancelot quickly dismounted, moving to help Merlin down from Gwaine’s horse. Arthur tried not to notice that Gwaine was drenched with sweat and his exposed skin was red and irritated. Arthur tried not to wince at the heat as he took Merlin’s arms. It was going to be difficult to hold on to him. Arthur gritted his teeth as Lancelot helped shoulder Merlin’s weight.

They wasted no time getting up the stairs, though Arthur was getting hotter by the second with Merlin pressed up against his side.  _ Gods _ , how was Merlin even  _ alive _ ? 

Gwaine pushed the physician’s door open and Arthur and Lancelot burst in behind him, heading straight for the patients’ cot. Gaius was already waiting there with a bucket of water and several vials of potion. Leon must’ve explained quite a bit to the physician, because Gaius’ brows were drawn tight in a look of determination as started forward, wasting no time in examining his ward. Gaius’ frown deepened the longer he observed Merlin, who was growing more agitated as the physician gently prodded him.

“His neck is a charred mess. Lancelot, would you hand me that dark serum at the edge of the table? Arthur, Gwaine, make sure he stays still. I don’t want to cause him any more unnecessary pain.”

Arthur did as he was told, holding down Merlin’s shoulder as Gwaine did the same on the other side. He ignored the searing heat rolling off of Merlin in waves and focused on keeping him still as Gaius treated the burn marks on his neck. Merlin grimaced in his sleep, struggling weakly in their grips but lacking the energy to put up much of a fight. Gaius made quick work of the wounds and soon Arthur and Gwaine were able to release Merlin and allow him to settle back down. 

“This is no ordinary fever,” Gaius announced as he handed Lancelot a cold rag to place on Merlin’s forehead.

Arthur’s heart plummeted as the physician confirmed their suspicions. 

“You said that Merlin broke out of the collar, yes?” Gaius asked, turning to look at Arthur directly for the first time. “Using nothing but the sheer force of his magic?”

Arthur nodded, considering. “I was sort of out of it, but it looked like he used a large amount of magic.”

Gaius hummed, his brow drawing tightly. “That explains it, then.”

“What do you mean by that?” Gwaine asked.

Gaius sighed. “One thing you have to understand about Merlin is that his magic is a part of him. In a way, he  _ is  _ magic itself. He cannot be fully deprived of it, even by such a powerful device. However, Merlin had to go several weeks with his magic suppressed so aggressively that it was actually damaged. Not only that, but he also had to muster such a significant amount of power to break out of the collar’s hold. I believe what we’re seeing is an aftereffect of this. Merlin’s magic is still returning to him, giving the impression of an intense fever.”

The room fell silent as all eyes fell on Merlin.

“He’s been through so much already. Can he survive this too?” Arthur asked, his own voice sounding rocky and foreign to his ears.

“I’ll try to keep him as cool as possible, but there’s not much more that I can do. However, Merlin is incredibly resilient. I believe that he’ll recover physically.”

The atmosphere grew heavy once again at the unspoken implication of Gaius’ words. Arthur’s gaze returned to Merlin, his vision going blurry. Gaius was right, as always. Physical recovery was only half of the battle.


	11. Coronation

Arthur had been keeping the council at bay for weeks now. They insisted on making him king, and logically Arthur knew that they were right. Still, it didn’t  _ feel  _ right. There would be no coronation until Merlin could be there, right in the front with a stupidly wide grin on his face. Arthur would never have made it this far without him.

He visited Merlin every day, even if he couldn’t be there for too long. Gaius always said the same thing —that he was fighting, that he would get better and that it would only take time. Arthur wondered how much the physician had to tell himself that as well. 

The people of Camelot were getting antsy, rumors spreading about why Arthur hadn’t been crowned king yet. Arthur did his best to ignore them, but he couldn’t help but worry that he might lose their trust if he put it off for too much longer. 

That morning, Arthur had gone straight to the training fields to oversee his knights. Leon was doing a fantastic job with them, sliding into Arthur’s former role as head knight with ease. Leon was undoubtedly born to do this. Still, Arthur missed it like hell. He missed the action, the rush of adrenaline in the climax of a fight, the wind in his hair and the sweat on his brow. He decided to challenge Leon under the guise of testing his skills. 

“Can’t have you lazing about with your new position, now, can I?” Arthur teased.

“Of course not, sire,” Leon replied with a knowing smirk.

They fell into step with one another, parrying back and forth. Leon had always been a good match for Arthur and kept him on his toes, even though Arthur was pretty sure he still held back. Arthur was undoubtedly skilled, but Leon had also been training since birth and had quite a few more years under his belt. Still, Arthur was a bit quicker and used that to his advantage. Just as Arthur’s pace was quickening and the rush was coming back, Leon withdrew his sword and stepped back a few paces. 

Arthur looked at him questioningly, until he realized Leon’s attention was directed away from the training field. Arthur followed his gaze and saw Lancelot approaching quickly, his expression more open than it had been in a long time.

“Sire, sorry to interrupt, but Merlin’s awake.”

* * *

Merlin had been moved into his own bed, hopefully on his own two feet. Gaius nodded at Arthur as he walked past. He nodded back before practically flinging himself into Merlin’s tiny room. Merlin was sitting up against the headboard, a book nestled in his lap. The warlock looked up as Arthur came in and his look of intense concentration was immediately replaced by a bright smile.

“Merlin,” Arthur said, all his relief flooding into that single word.

“Hey, Arthur,” Merlin said, his voice rough from disuse. 

“I’m glad to see you’re finally back with us. You can’t shirk your responsibilities much longer, you know.”

Merlin snorted, his eyes rolling good-naturedly. “Sorry to have inconvenienced you so,  _ sire _ .” 

Arthur shook his head, the smile pulling at his mouth giving him away. However, his gaze fell to Merlin’s neck where he could just see the scars peeking out from behind his neckerchief. And just like that, Arthur was frowning.

“Honestly, what were you thinking, following us all the way out there? What if you hadn’t broken out of the collar, Merlin? Morgana would’ve killed you.”

Merlin sighed, closing his book and setting it aside. “I know how powerful Morgana has gotten. I couldn’t let you go to your death, even if I was powerless to stop it. I had to try.”

Arthur felt an unwarranted wave of warmth in his chest at the words. Merlin had to stop saying things like that—it was embarrassing. Arthur tried to sigh exasperatedly, but it just died in his throat. Merlin was looking at Arthur with those icy blue eyes of his, his expression open and stubbornly kind. 

“I appreciate that,” Arthur finally said. “It’s about time the people of Camelot see you for who you really are, don’t you think?”

Merlin’s eyes widened impossibly more, his breath catching in his throat. “You really mean that?”

“Of course. I want you to be free in your own home. I want you to always be  _ you _ .”

Merlin slid forward, forcing Arthur to reach up and catch him into a crushing hug. 

“Would you stop being such a—”

“Shut up, Arthur. Let me have this.”

Arthur let him.

* * *

The coronation itself was somewhat of a blur. Arthur turned towards the cheering crowd, his vision swimming with Camelot red. The sun was blazing in through the tall windows, illuminating the throne room with shimmering gold. Arthur locked eyes with Merlin, who was predictably beaming with a blinding smile. 

“Long live the king!” every voice shouted, but Arthur could only hear Merlin’s brittle voice, somehow rising above the others.


	12. Butterflies

The best thing about important ceremonies were the celebrations afterwards. The coronation for a new king, of course, meant that there was a grand feast, the finest in years. The throne room was simply jam-packed with Arthur’s friends and nobles who had travelled far to witness the crowning. Arthur found himself feeling more fulfilled than he had in a long time. Though Merlin was still just a servant, he was right next to Arthur even if he couldn’t formally participate in the feast. That was more than enough for both of them after everything. So Arthur asked very little of Merlin, allowing him to roam about the room and chatter with Guinevere and the knights. 

As the night grew darker, Arthur sipped his wine and felt himself growing more and more content with the pleasant buzz at the back of his skull. He laughed and joked with his knights, letting himself go almost entirely. 

“I think it’s time to turn in, sire,” an amused voice said from above him. 

Arthur tipped his head back, coming face-to-face with Merlin, whose cheeks were notably flushed from the wine, or maybe the heat. 

“Is it?” Arthur asked, his words dragging a bit.

Merlin smirked. “Come on. Up you go.”

“Stop  _ coddling _ me. I am the king, you know.” 

Merlin just snorted as they hobbled out of the throne room. “You’ve been king for mere hours. Besides, royalty or not, you’re still a prat.” 

With more effort than Arthur cared to admit, he swung his arm up and swatted Merlin on the back of his head. 

“ _ Hey _ !”

Arthur laughed, enjoying the childish mirth fluttering in his chest. Some time must’ve passed as Arthur lingered in his lull, because suddenly Merlin was pulling him through the door and shoving him into his chambers. Without a word, Merlin efficiently tugged Arthur out of his official robes and prepared him for bed. Arthur allowed himself to be manhandled because Merlin would get his way, no matter what the king said or did. Usually Arthur would challenge him, but tonight was different. 

Once Merlin was satisfied with his work, he pushed Arthur into a chair by the fireplace. 

“Here, drink some water or you’ll regret it in the morning,” Merlin ordered, handing Arthur a silver goblet. 

Arthur just hummed in response, sipping bits of the water until his buzz faded somewhat. He watched with fascination as Merlin turned to the cold fireplace.

“ _ Forbearnan _ ,” Merlin whispered, his eyes blazing gold.

The fire raged to life, bathing the room in orange. Arthur’s breath escaped him in a rush as he watched Merlin’s eyes fade back to blue. Gods. Maybe it was the alcohol flowing in his blood, but there was no denying it. Merlin was special.

“I’m so lucky I didn’t lose you,” Arthur said under his breath. 

The room must’ve been quieter than Arthur realized with the buzzing in his ears, because Merlin turned to look at him. “What?”

Arthur sighed. “Merlin, I know I don’t ever say it, but… you’re important. To me.”

Merlin’s eyebrows flew a mile high. “You’re drunk.”

“Maybe a little bit, but that’s not why I…” Arthur trailed off, standing abruptly from where he’d been sitting. 

Maybe he was more drunk than he thought, because Arthur couldn’t hold himself back. He was standing in Merlin’s space, taking in Merlin’s features like he was seeing him for the first time. Merlin’s piercing blue eyes, his sharp, flushed cheekbones and lips, his confused expression that furrowed his brow and scrunched up his nose ever so slightly. 

“Show me more magic.”

Merlin blinked, surprise evident on his face. But then, then he was grinning widely. He took Arthur’s hands and clasped them together. Arthur couldn’t help but stare at Merlin as he whispered something and his eyes flashed gold again. He watched until every last thread of gold faded away. 

“Open your hands,” Merlin said, laughter on his lips.

Arthur did, ducking his head. A striking, bright blue butterfly fluttered out of his palm, flying lazily upwards. Arthur gazed after it, mesmerized, until Merlin waved his hand and the butterfly dissolved into a shower of blue sparks. Arthur blew out a bewildered breath. And to think that Arthur had once believed that all magic was inherently evil. The very idea seemed absolutely preposterous now. In fact, Merlin’s magic was the exact opposite: pure, gentle, familiar _ , beautiful _ . 

Arthur turned to face Merlin, his head spinning. It was more than the alcohol, he was sure now. Arthur grabbed Merlin’s left wrist, pulling him forward as Merlin squeaked in surprise. Their lips met for a short moment, but to Arthur it may as well have been a lifetime. It felt just like Merlin’s magic; warm and gentle in a way that made Arthur’s heart stutter. But then, M erlin broke away and stumbled back, his eyes going wide. 

Arthur nearly folded in on himself as he felt his heart wrench in his chest. He cursed his rashness. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“No, no. It’s alright,  _ believe _ me. I just—I’m not at a point where I can—after everything…” Merlin gestured helplessly as he trailed off, his blue eyes glistening. 

Arthur nodded, though he felt his brow crinkle. “Do you want to talk about it? I’ve been wanting to ask, but…” 

Merlin looked unsure, but he must’ve seen something in Arthur’s expression that encouraged him to open up. “There’s not much to tell that you don’t already know. They—the slave traders got bored often. I was just a shiny new toy for them to play with.”

Arthur laid a tentative hand on Merlin’s shoulder. He released a short huff of relief when the warlock didn’t flinch away. “I’m sorry, Merlin. No one deserves to be used like that, least of all you.”

Merlin met his gaze then and Arthur’s breath caught in his throat. His entire face was beaming with pride and affection directed at  _ Arthur _ , as if he had done something spectacular to deserve it. Merlin’s deep blue eyes were nearly glowing in the moonlight, making him look utterly ethereal, yet somehow broken all the same. It took everything in Arthur not to sweep him up in another kiss in an attempt to wipe away his pain. The pain that Arthur had brought upon him. 

“You’re not at fault for what happened to me, you know.”

Arthur blinked. Though he shouldn’t really have been surprised at this point, since Merlin had always had a talent for reading his mind. “I was the one who sent you away when it’s my responsibility to protect you,” Arthur said, his eyes falling to the floor by Merlin’s feet.

“You  _ were  _ trying to protect me, you great prat. But I shouldn’t have let you. I was shaken up after you found out about… you know,  _ me _ , and that made me selfish. Going home was easier. And if I hadn’t, your father would probably still be alive.”

Arthur shut his eyes, fighting back sudden nausea. “His death was far from being your fault.” Arthur cocked his head to the side when a sudden thought occurred to him, “Why would you have wanted to protect him, anyways?”

Merlin’s eyes widened, filling with that  _ look _ again that Arthur doubted he had ever deserved. “Because he was your father. Besides, it wouldn’t have been the first time.”

“Merlin, he would’ve  _ killed  _ you if he knew—”

“I know that. But he was still your father and you loved him.”

Arthur blinked, his mouth going dry.  _ I think I might somehow love you more,  _ he thought suddenly. It surprised him, like a punch in the stomach. “Thank you for protecting him for my sake,” he said instead. “That couldn’t have been easy. Nothing about any of this could have.”

“It wasn’t all bad,” Merlin said with a slight shrug. “They picked favorites, you see. When I came along, they left the others alone.”

Arthur’s breath left him again for an entirely different reason. “Merlin…” 

“I just need time,” Merlin said with a shaky sigh, “to be alright again.”

“Of course,” Arthur assured, sounding more certain about this than anything else in his life. 

Merlin deflated then, his shoulders actually relaxing entirely. He smiled, softly, looking decades younger. Arthur opened up his arms, inviting Merlin to approach if he so desired. The warlock’s smile went a little lopsided, like a smirk, before he practically collapsed into Arthur’s embrace. 

The king could feel Merlin trembling, though it was beginning to lessen in his arms. Arthur wanted to hold him close until the shivers were completely gone, until Merlin could feel entirely safe and warm. And if Arthur pressed a gentle kiss into his dark hair, Merlin said nothing about it. He just sighed, somewhat wistfully, before pulling away. 

“Get some rest, Arthur,” he said quietly.

Arthur fought to swallow, pushing away the swell of emotions welling up within him. “You too,” he managed. 

He watched Merlin go, suddenly hating how the door creaked when it fell shut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So… my hand slipped and this became a Merthur fic. I hope you guys liked this chapter anyways! Sorry if Merthur isn’t what you were expecting (I’m changing the tags), the dialogue just went that route like it had a mind of its own.


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